My Unexpected Safari
by animebishieluver
Summary: A new life and adventure would have been fun, but I could have done without the fur and claws. And the whole being killed via golf cart. But life doesn't always work the way you planned. Rated for sexual content in later chapters, and possible bloody spot
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I do not own The Lion King, and all recognizable characters and storylines are the sole property of their creators. I make no money from this. _This fic is rated M __for sexual content __in future chapters. If you are__ offended by this or are underage please click the back button now._

All other characters and storylines belong to me. Please respect this. Enjoy!

**Chapter One: The Savanna**

My fingers, still entirely human and un-clawed at the time, mind you, raced across my laptop, trying to keep up with my professor's lecture. I'd never had a proper typing class, so I was a bit on the slow side. Years of instant messaging and forcing myself not to watch my hands as I typed had improved my skills a bit, though.

The class was a bit vague that afternoon. With it being bare inches from summer break, everyone was either itching to be out of class or nodding off in their chairs. At the time I was chemistry major at a local college, and as the class was a graduation requirement for every student, it was just large enough to remain unnoticed if one became distracted. The irony of it didn't hit me until much, much later, but the fact that we were studying Africa in a 101 Geography class was a major side splitter in the days to come, let me tell you.

So how did a lowly college freshman get stuck in fur and claws? Well, it's a lovely story, really. I do believe I'm the only person on earth who can honestly say they were tragically mowed down by a vicious golf cart. I personally blame the guy who was training the new Public Safety Officer in the use of the golf carts. Our college didn't have enough money to buy patrol cars, so that's what we got. My life thus ended and my funeral, and if you ever get the chance, watch yours, it's a riot, anyways, my funeral based around traffic safety and proper golf cart signaling, I found myself floating, as they say, "somewhere in between." Now, as a human, I was a nice, grounded girl without any crazy beliefs in voodoo or aliens, but even I'm willing to say something freaky was going on.

In the end, my transfer across from reality as humans know it, to the world of the Lion King was a bit anticlimactic, even if it was weird. One minute I'm watching the backhoe push dirt over my coffin, (great show, wish I'd had popcorn) the next I'm spinning, feeling stretched as my body elongated, feeling fur sprout all over, my organs shift, and my nails grow and sharpen before sliding back into my newly formed paws. You'd think this would be extremely painful, but pain is for thou inferior mortal beings. In other words, dead people don't feel pain.

Next thing I know, I'm tossed furry ears over tail down a grassy rise to the base of a rather familiar tree, without so much as a word of Divine Explanation. Briefly, I tossed around the idea of reincarnation, but discarded that as I was fully grown and had full memory of my past life. Then I thought this might be some weird coma dream, and that I'd imagined my own funeral. Then I remembered the accident in more detail and realized I'd heard my heart stop beating before I drew my last breath. I was dead, alright. And with no word from the higher powers as to Why I'm a Lioness.

I, of course, had the expected freak out and ranting rage, until I realized that although my brain still processed it as English; I was speaking a very fluent Lion. It was kind of like when you learn Spanish in high school, and your brain translates the Spanish you're hearing into English, formulates a reply in English, and translates that to Spanish, only a lot faster.

Weird, huh?

So I was freaking out more than a tiny bit when I recognized Rafiki's tree. I calmed ever so slightly, or maybe it was just more shock, I can't really remember now. In any case, I decided to see if he was home. If anybody knew what was going on around here, it was him. This, however, left me with a slight issue.

You know how with a one year old, even though they're physically strong enough to pick themselves up and walk, they haven't quite figured out how to coordinate it yet? Yeah. Try that times ten. It's not so much the getting to your feet, or even the balancing once you're there, although that's weird since we're not used to having front and rear limbs of roughly equal length. It's not stepping forwards. No, the trouble sets in about the fourth step when you realize that you have to coordinate our limbs instead of two, and that lions don't do the two legs at a time deal. Nope, you have to work four limbs at separate times and still end up at roughly the same area as the other three paws. And as adults, we take for granted how tough it was to learn to walk when it was our sole goal in life. Now my mind was spinning in about twenty directions, and I was trying to overcome nearly nineteen years of muscle memory of my human body, which tended to make me forget I had back legs when I lost focus. Which made me end up sprawled on my stomach. A lot.

But after a few laps around Rafiki's tree, I had the hang of it, mostly. So now for climbing the tree. Or I could just yell for the monkey. That idea having the most appeal, I did it. Or rather, I tried and came out with this weird, half snarling, half meow. I guess the whole roaring thing takes practice. I tried again. I got a little more for my effort this time, the result being mostly snarl that trailed off into a squeak like a pubescent boy's voice cracking. Still not satisfied, I was about to make a third effort when the monkey showed up, leaning out of the tree, carefully peering down at me.

I sat up, wrapped my tail around myself neatly, and spoke, "Hi."

"Whatchu wantin with ole Rafiki?" he shook his fur out. He looked like he'd just woken up from a nap.

Trying to be as respectful as possible, I said, "I seem to have found myself in a bit of trouble, and I wondered if you might be willing to help me?"

He sighed, looking sleepy and resigned, "Alright, come on up then," he turned to head back inside.

I hurriedly stopped him, "Well, you see, that's part of the problem. I don't, err, know how."

Rafiki turned back, frowning slightly, "You's a lion, girl, use your claws."

"Erm, well, actually, I've only been a lion for, oh, about five minutes?" I admitted rather sheepishly, knowing I sounded silly.

After looking at me for a long, slow minute, he nodded, "Well, I's not a lion, so I can't tell you. You gonna have to figure it out yourself."

I sighed dejectedly, reaching up to sink my claws into the bark of the tree and pulled. Ten long minutes and several scrapes down the tree later, I scrabbled into Rafiki's home. Now, despite how roomy it looks in the movies, it is most definitely not meant to house a monkey and a lion at the same time. However, if I stayed still in the deepest part of the hollow, Rafiki could move about as needed.

Rafiki was in the middle of his whole crack-the-coconut-see-the-future thing when he looked up at me suddenly, "What is your name, child?"

I looked back, "Ashley."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** To my fan base that does not yet exist, my computer has been extremely hit or miss lately, so the regularity of my updates may be affected, especially since what I had written got deleted. On the upside, I had a very long conversation with tech support today, and they did this lovely screen sharing thing that go my computer running again. However, I have absolutely no idea what he did, and if it breaks again, I will be extraordinarily angry.

Anyways, on with the fanfic!

**Chapter Two: Settling in**

"Ouch!" I sniped, scowling at Rafiki, who was completely ignoring me. He continued to swirl around the coconut whatsits with the herby whatevers and tossed in a bit of my ash brown pelt which he had just ripped out. I laid my head down on my paws sulkily, waiting for the now humming monkey to finish his divining mixing.

"Ahh," Rafiki murmured, "I see. Yous was dead."

"Yep. Didn't listen to my mama when she said to look both ways before crossing the street," I said.

Rafiki picked up another coconut and broke it open, taking a thoughtful bite as he studied the contents of the bowl. He continued to study it for some moments, while I began to fidget from impatience. It was then I noticed precisely how dirty my little roll in the dirt during my landing had left me. Well, since I was doomed to be a kitty for the foreseeable future, I decided I might as well be clean. I only hoped I didn't cough up a hairball in the process.

Sitting up a bit and eying my left paw doubtfully, I gave it a cautious lick. I was startled to feel how rough my tongue was. No wonder cats pull out fur when they groom themselves. I had spiny little protrusions all over my tongue that acted like little combs. Thankfully, as my fur was shorter than a housecat's, less fur was pulled out, and there was no imminent threat of a hairball. Looking up, I noticed that Rafiki seemed to have been watching me through the entire episode.

"You stick your tongue out too far," Rafiki commented, "Now, you was a human?"

"I'm really creeped out that you can figure that out by looking at a bowl of plant junk and a bit of my fur," I replied.

He laughed, rather than being offended, "Those who have passed on be tellin' me much, and they were stirred by your passage. They knows who you were."

"Really now? And do they happen to have word from the higher powers why I'm not in my own afterlife instead of here?" I queried.

"Nope. You just gonna have to live like this. But I be thinkin' the reason you here is because you be dyin' before your time, or because somebody else was supposed to die instead o' yous," Rafiki decided.

Considering this for a moment, I took another lick at my paw, absently. Yech. That tasted foul! But I supposed I would have to adjust unless I wanted to go through life scruffy and dirty. Jumping in the water hole would just make the loose dusty earth cling to my coat, and rolling probably wouldn't do much good, either.

Thinking over my own death was, surprisingly, not half as traumatic as I would have thought it to be. It just happened. There was nothing she could do to change it. To put a very ironic spin on it, Hakuna Matata.

I remember hopping off the curb on the way back to my dorm, right behind some guy with one of those 'real men wear pink' shirts on. I remember thinking, _God, that fad is so incredibly over,_ before I heard the screech of mini tires on hot road and looked up just in time to see the golf cart speeding towards me and tee shirt boy. The young patrol officer's eyes widened as he tried to slam on the brakes, only to hit the gas instead. At the last second, his instructor reached over and jerked the wheel, taking the cart into a swerve that would have taken him into the bushes harmlessly, but when he hit the curb, the cart either couldn't make it, or the man's hand jerked back.

Since I was closer to the curb, the cart hit me first. The angle the cart had hit me at forced me forwards into tee shirt boy, effectively shoving him forwards and out of the way and me back towards the curb. My head cracked off said curb less than a second later, bouncing me onto the asphalt with a sickening crack. I lay with my cheek pressed to the hot pavement, my vision flickering wildly black and red and light, my heart pumping like a bird whose been pounced on by a cat. Then my heart clenched to a stop, brutally squeezing in my chest while my lungs breathed twice more convulsively before that stopped, too. And then I was dead.

The tee shirt guy, saved all but a few bruises and skinned palms because of my unwitting help, did actually show up at my funeral. Despite the fact that he had gone practically unharmed, he clutched a bloody pink tee shirt in his hands. I have no idea how it got that way, since I didn't see what happened due to the extreme stress of my soul leaving my body. I can only assume he tried to help me. Golf cart drivers one and two, however, did not make an appearance. Well, I can't say I blame them. It really would have been rather tacky to show up, and possibly dangerous, considering my mother's state of mind just then.

I suppose it's possible that tee shirt boy or maybe the golf cart officers were supposed to die, or maybe I just wasn't supposed to, but who knows? In the end, I'm dead and they're not. Tee shirt boy put flowers on my grave and seemed genuinely sad, but I never even knew his name. That was the end of that.

By this point in time, I had started to get a little thirsty. I didn't realize what it was at first, since the sensations in a lion's body are so different. Rafiki finally pointed it out to me when I started to pant.

Getting out of the tree was another issue. Looking over the side, I carefully slid my paws over the edge and slid them down the bark of the tree, digging in my claws when body started to follow the natural flow of gravity. When the entire front half of my body was clear of the opening, I gave a mighty heave and launched myself out over the plains. This was terrifying for me, since as a human we tend to jump feet first and not nearly so far. But I landed with only a slight jarring, my joints and muscles instinctively compensating for the fall.

Rafiki gave me directions to the water hole, along with a few pieces of advice on general survival.

"Hey, little lioness! You might wanna join Simba's pride at Pride Rock. They help you learn what you be needin' to know," Rafiki called after me.

"Thanks," I called over my shoulder, then muttering to myself, "Not likely."

Don't get me wrong. Simba seems like a nice enough lion, and a fair king, but I knew something about pride life that Disney brushed over. Simply stated, as the alpha male, Simba had breeding rights to every lioness in the pride. I wouldn't be a member of Simba's harem. Well, not harem. That's not fair to his lionesses. It's how they operate. But I had absolutely no desire to participate.

So I traipsed down to the water hole at a trot, which was much easier to manage, since you do use two legs at a time at this pace. It was still a bit difficult to coordinate, but I got it after a few minutes. Actually, I was a bit surprised at how quickly I was adjusting to my new body.

As I neared the water hole, a thought struck me: lions sometimes ambushed their prey as they got a drink. Perhaps if I crept up to the water quietly, I could catch my first meal. If I didn't fall on my face in the effort, that is.

As luck would have it, a herd of gazelle were getting a drink as I approached the bank. I quietly slid through the tall grasses, closer and closer. If I could just get between a gazelle and the plains, I might catch it.

Again, luck was on my side. A young female gazelle, just short of adulthood, stood a bit away from the herd. She dipped her head down gracefully, and I was only thirty feet away. Soundlessly, for my instincts seemed to be filling in as I went along, I crouched, bunching my muscles to spring forward. Her ears pricked, as though sensing my intentions. I stayed perfectly still for a moment longer, silently pleading for her to put her head back down. Slowly she did.

In that moment, I flexed my muscles powerfully, stealth abandoned for the chase. She brought her head up and took off. I knew I had only seconds, and I made sure to herd her into the mud, where she would be slower. In the end, I caught her, going straight for her throat and biting tightly. She collapsed, stunned, and I twisted her head back, standing on her neck until I heard her neck snap. Not a traditional lion's move, but I didn't think I could stand to suffocate her.

Now I was left with an issue: I now had a very dead gazelle sitting in front of me, and my lovely little instincts didn't seem to include an automatic taste for gazelle meat. On the other hand, generally only about two out of five hunts were successful, and it was a bad idea to let several full meals go to scavengers. I sat down to look at my kill for a moment before deciding to have a drink before pushing myself to make a decision.

By this time I had attracted a bit of unwanted attention. A certain red-billed hornbill was sitting on a rock near my gazelle. I snarled at him, hoping to sound like any lion would.

"Who are you? Don't you realize you're trespassing on the Pride Lands? If King Simba catches you he'll drive you off before you could lift a claw to," here I cut him off.

"Shut up, you dung sniffing dodo," I said casually. Might as well get into character, after all. I would certainly never call someone something that mundane at home.

Zazu drew himself up, huffing and glaring, "I shall be reporting you to the king. Do not think that you'll get away with this!"

Growling, I sank my teeth back into the neck of my prey as Zazu took off. This was exactly the sort of attention I didn't want to attract. But since it couldn't be helped, I dragged my gazelle with surprising ease towards the edge of the Pride Lands. I didn't stop till I reached a river near the border with a suitable tumble of rocks that seemed solid enough to sleep under. The river itself was at the bottom of a gorge that was filled with crocs rumbling and sunning themselves. I suppose it did make for a rather nice deterrent for mst animals, and I doubted that the crocs could climb the sheer wall, even though it wasn't more than eight or so feet deep.

Now it was just me and the gazelle.


End file.
